


you chose this

by Shinybug



Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: With one step onto the raft Sawyer leaves behind his possible futures.
Relationships: James "Sawyer" Ford/Jack Shephard, Kate Austen/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	you chose this

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the end of season one.

Time was a funny thing. It could crawl or fly, depending on your point of view and whatever possible futures were unfolding before your eyes at the moment. Human perception of time could be so subjective.

One foot on sand, one foot in water, then metal and bamboo underfoot. Motion. Blurring of ocean and raft, shouting. Take-off. Open sea.

To Sawyer, time stopped. Somewhere between hoisting himself onto the raft and the raft sliding outward, lifting, buoyant, Sawyer knew all possible futures. Death, rescue, redemption, failure. A watery grave, curious fish nibbling; a hospital bed, IV drip and beeping monitor; sand weighing him down, a eulogy with torches burning.

Another second passed. He found his footing, one hand on the railing, the other in midair still grasping for balance. He saw all possible pasts, where the roads diverged, paths he’d never even glanced down, some he’d contemplated briefly.

His hand pushing her hair from her face, rubbing a curl between his fingers. Her hands tangling in his, her leg sliding around and over his, warming and thawing. Truths spoken underneath lies. Her pain and secrets against his mouth, sounding much like his own, her fragile hopes familiar.

Or.

A mouth on his shoulder, hand bracing against his chest, stubble scraping his chin with a kiss. Broad back under his fingers, strong arms with tattoos to trace like braille in the dead of night when no one is watching. Their lives so wildly different, failures so alike, desperation achingly identical.

Could have been. Might have should have wasn't. The ocean roared out of the shell in his mind—‘you chose this.’

Another second passed. Sea spume blew into Sawyer’s eyes, blurring his present. He knew another second of vertigo, knowing that the possible pasts and possible futures did not intersect, at least not anymore.

Then his vision cleared, as much as it was going to, and time resumed its relative pace. The sea was so very bright, like fool’s gold. The wrenching in his gut was just from the waves, surely. He’d never been much of a sailor, but it was too late now. No going back.


End file.
